My favorite part of Thailand was the monkey park. On a tip from a group of German tourists I met over coffee at breakfast in a little cafe, I took a bus to Lopburi about an hour north of Bangkok. The city had a big, centrally located park.
It was a typical urban park landscaped with meandering walking trails beneath a thick stand of tall trees overhead. A small concrete wall topped with wrought iron pickets enclosed the space. You might be tempted to think you were in Prague or Budapest with one unique exception. The canopy was filled with monkeys—thousands of them. There were street vendors selling bags of peanuts nearby, so I bought a couple bags and headed into the park to feed the monkeys.
It was unsettling. A thousand sets of eyes glared at me from the treetops. They quickly recognized the white paper bags and began to come down to the ground. Hundreds of monkeys circled around me and began closing in nearer and nearer. There were adorable little babies with their mommas and then bigger, meaner ones that would steal food away from the smaller ones.
I began handing out peanuts and they closed in tighter and tighter around me. One innocent looking little guy standing right beside me reached up and grabbed the hem of my shorts and gave it a few tugs to get my attention. Aww. I gave him a peanut. I threw them to all the cute little ones from whom it was promptly stolen away. I kept trying and they kept getting stolen.
I threw a handful and the little guy in particular I felt sorry for finally got one. I ignored the bigger monkeys, and they didn't appreciate that. One walked boldly right up to me, raised its hands outstretched and suddenly lunged forward baring its teeth and hissing at me like you might yell, boo! --trying to spook or startle someone. It worked. It scared the crap out of me, and I jumped back and, in the process, dropped a bag of peanuts. My tormentor seized the bag from the ground and quickly scrambled away and up into the trees to savor his spoils, no doubt pleased with himself.
I quickly fed a bunch of the bigger guys in case they got any similar ideas. Before long I was out of peanuts. It was amazing how smart they were. As soon as the peanuts were gone, they all began to file off across the grass and back up into the trees.
The next day I hopped on the train again and rode to Saigon, aka, Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam. The scenery along the way was mostly rich green pastureland. Farmers wore straw hats and plowed rice fields with water buffalo.
Saigon was bustling with industry. There were lots of bicycles, scooters and motorbikes buzzing around. I found a little shop willing to rent me a bicycle for a week and I took off exploring the main areas as well as some quaint smaller alleys. I loved how jungle foliage sprang up anywhere there was a spot of unattended open ground.
I recalled images of the fall of Saigon marking the end of the Vietnam War with CIA helicopters evacuating Americans off rooftops as the North Vietnamese army entered the city. I stayed eleven days then pushed on to Hanoi in the north.
The city was similar to Saigon in many ways. It too was a bustling port city along the coast of the South China Sea, positioned on Gulf of Tonkin—another strategic point in the Vietnam War and the Indochina War before that. It had the same tropical, oriental feel with stunning temples. The waterfront along the Red River was beautiful.
Technically Vietnam is still a communist country, but it felt like any other Western capitalist nation. I couldn't understand why such brutal wars were waged here. I couldn't wrap my head around it. It was a place made up of peasants and farmers. There was a spice trade. It's still a supplier of Pepper and Cinnamon. There's some mining and agriculture. Nothing worth a million people losing their lives over. What a waste.
I pushed on by train the following week to Hong Kong. The city was mostly located on Victoria Island rising sharply from the ocean to Victoria Peak. All the skyrise buildings were clustered around the harbor. It had an interesting history as a British colony ironically tracing its beginnings back to the opium trade.
History was not as glamorous as they suggested in school. Humanity seemed built upon a foundation of brutality, greed and vice. So far, I'd seen it heavily influenced by sex and drugs and pointless wars over political ideology. You can't force people to be free. They have to see the benefits of democracy and choose it adopt it. You can't force people to change. I guess it's not that simple when a country is secretly gripped in the tight fist of a brutal autocrat. Their political rivals who do advocate for freedom, quickly disappear—snatched from their homes in the middle of the night, never to be seen again.
The formerly British run city was peacefully handed over to the Chinese in 1997, at the conclusion of a hundred-year lease. It still retained a distinct European feel. Many western companies as well as large international conglomerates had a presence there. It was very lucrative for the Chinese to maintain western capitalism, but they couldn't abide other western values such as free speech.
In recent years the government had violently cracked down on dissent. I don't understand communism with its rigid ideologies and harsh punishments of opposing views. Freedom is inherently good. People are naturally drawn to it. To be able to do whatever you want. Communism seems perpetually marked by a tight grip of insecurity and fear of losing control.
The dark side of free speech is divisiveness, characterized by duplicitous angry political rhetoric adopting entrenched polemic posturing. In a healthy society, free speech spurs debate. Unfettered dialogue leads to a marketplace of competing ideas where the best ones emerge and foster progress. It's an unrivaled incubator of innovation and problem-solving solutions. There's a global race, and if you don't have a culture of innovation, you can't keep up technologically.
Meanwhile, the US is currently so bogged down in vitriol, most people would prefer to dig in and fight, constantly looking to score political points in a juvenile game of humiliating opponents rather than actually finding and implementing solutions. I shake my head in disgust. What is wrong with our world?
I took the train to Shanghai. As soon as I got in, I touched base with Rob and had him wire more cash. I filled him in on the trip so far and asked if he'd heard anything from Soph. He said he hadn't. I thought about calling her, but I didn't. I would have loved to have her on the trip with me to share all the profound experiences I was having. But she had her own life and our paths went different directions and it would only bring pain thinking about and dwelling on my feelings for her. It was time to forget her and move on with my life.
There were plenty of international restaurants, but I ate what the locals did. I stopped at little stalls in crowded alleys filled with exotic aromas.
To order I usually simply pointed to the same thing the guy ahead of me in line got. One time it was a noodle soup with chunks of tofu and vegetables. One ingredient was some kind of green leafy sprout with a sharp bitter flavor—I think it was watercress. There was also a distinct seafood flavor to it. Perhaps a dash of oyster sauce. Another time it was a chicken dumpling with interesting spices like saffron and turmeric and vegetables.
I was blown away to see the Shanghai skyline filled with shiny new modern architecture as impressive as anything on Earth. China was changing. Positioning itself as a global leader, rivalling the US in many aspects.
The people were kind and humble. It was good to see up close. I'll be the first to admit it. My preconceptions were wrong. Many still gathered in the park in the early morning hours to perform Tai Chi—a sort of martial art that looked more like calisthenics or ballet dance choreography with graceful flowing motions than aggressive warfare training.
The single biggest impression I gained from my trip was that human beings are more alike than different. The circumstances and surrounding environments differ radically from place to place. But humans are mostly the same. We all share the same needs and desires. No matter what the disagreement or conflict, surely, call me naïve, but I sincerely believe we can get beyond the xenophobia and work it out.
It was a forty-seven-hour train ride to Lhasa. The lush green farmland transformed to rolling hills, gradually becoming steeper and steeper as we approached Tibet and the Himalayas. Lhasa was located at 12,000 ft elevation. It was very chilly. It was still winter at the higher elevations. In my shorts and T shirts I wasn't dressed for it, so I bought a thick, hand-spun cashmere wool sweater.
The air was much thinner—I had to breathe harder and faster. I spent a week at the Tashitakge Hotel. There was a youth hostel for twenty dollars, but the hotel was only twenty more and I felt like splurging for a bigger bed and more blankets. Plus, I wasn't feeling well. I got really sick and had to just stay in bed for a few days.
Once I'd recovered, I got on a bus to Katmandu, Nepal. We headed up winding mountain roads along raging ice cold snow melt rivers crossing sketchy bridges several times. The road was narrow, and it was slow going—occasionally blocked by herds of very hairy sheep or possibly goats. I wasn't sure. We traversed a mountain pass on steep switchbacks along Yingbin Road, then crossed the border into Nepal and headed down, down, down, into the Katmandu Valley located on large plain at 4600 ft elevation.
I had this romantic notion of Nepal as a mecca for spiritual or metaphysical learning. Where people go to wander seeking the wisdom of a meditating swami sitting with crossed legs on a mountain top or perhaps the Dali Lama. I felt like Dr. Stephen Strange searching for Kamar Taj. I wandered the city not really knowing what I was in search of. Call it intangible, profound insight or understanding. I don't know. Deeper meaning about life. Spirituality possibly?
The city was unique. It had an ancient quality to it. Lots of the buildings were old stone structures crafted with natural clay brickwork in earth tone colors of tan and brown, accented with shades of orange and red. Many were ornamented with intricate carved wood. It was reminiscent of Hindu and Buddhist styles.
There were lots of stupas and temples with tiered roofed pagodas which I thought were uniquely characteristic of Japanese architecture, but I was obviously wrong. There were clearly overlapping cultures in Asia. The divisions between Asian nations were apparently political, not cultural.
A busy market was bustling. Shops were overflowing out onto the streets and sidewalks with goods for sale. People were going about their lives in a similar fashion as had existed for probably a thousand years. A group of young boys was laughing and kicking around a soccer ball in an empty dirt lot. Young boys kicking around balls on a dirt lot was a recurring theme of my trip. The innocence of youth and joy in the simple things.
I spent several weeks in Nepal. Mostly I did some hiking in the vast rugged foothills of the Himalaya occasionally spotting a herd of sheep led by a shepherd through the alpine pastures.
I found many beautiful spots in the mountains where I'd sit and think beside a rushing river or a tranquil lake or beside a cliff overlooking a pastured valley far below. I did a lot of thinking about life, searching for meaning. I never did come across any swamis. I didn't run into the Dali Lama. But I did learn something. The Himalayan people led simple lives, and in doing so were happy. You don't need a big house, riches and lots of stuff to find satisfaction.
We overcomplicate it, completely missing the simple things. Enjoying the warmth of sunshine on a cold morning. A beautiful mountain vista. The flowers. Don't worry about the meaningless stuff, simply live in the moment. It's not found on a phone. Be at one with the universe and let go of all the worry and pain we cling to.
I couldn't fully embrace Buddhism, going all the way to total abandonment of ambition. But many of its tenets are right on. Life is always changing; you can't cling to things that will be gone tomorrow. Wealth does not bring happiness. You have to find balance and live in harmony with nature and do good to your fellow man. It's ironic how love is at the root of basically all religions, and yet so much hate—wars and killing have been perpetrated under the banner of religion.
Happiness and strong self-esteem come from understanding who you are and being OK with it. So what if you're not the smartest or the strongest or the best looking? You know what? It's OK. It doesn't matter. You are unique. There is no one else like you out there. You're an amazing, one-of-a-kind beautiful human being. I don't have to be a sheep and follow the herd and go to college or do what everybody else is doing. I can find my own path and that's OK. There is nothing wrong with me. I can live my life and be proud of who I am.
The people shouting the loudest, screaming, constantly tearing down others are the most lost of all. They might have millions of twitter followers, but all that says is there's an ocean of lost people out there who vastly outnumber the grounded, self-aware individuals. I feel sorry for them. They're following the flashing lights and loudest voices--shepherds leading them astray and headed in the wrong direction.
Don't let the naysayers get you down. If you have a good, realistic goal, you can do it. If it's a good goal, it should be hard. It will take everything you've got. There might be lots of times you want to quit. But don't give up. Hang in there, don't quit. Just keep going. You'll get there, you can do it.
I took a bus to Agra, India. It was the cheapest option, making lots of stops along the way which would have annoyed the hell out of my dad. I sat by a small elderly peasant woman with dark brown wrinkly skin on her face that looked like baked mud. She was missing several teeth and spoke with a hoarse cackle. Her clothes were frayed and worn home spun wool died bright colors that were faded. Her shirt had blackened burn marks on the sleeves. I imaged from cooking over an open fire. She had an ingratiating smile and radiated warmth and goodness. I couldn't understand her words, but I sensed kindness.
One man was carrying several loud chickens in a woven reed cage. Others hadn't showered in some time. Nobody cared the slightest about how they looked. It had to be empowering to live so free of insecurity and self-consciousness.
We descended out of the mountains into the sweltering and steamy jungle. It was hot and crowded. The seats were lumpy and uncomfortable. No one complained. They were eternally patient--content with their lot in life. These were my people. The salt of the earth. I felt more comfortable among them than I did with a group of polished millionaires at an extravagant charity event.
Agra wasn't huge by Indian standards but was enormous in comparison to most US cities. Like everything in India, the mud brick and concrete buildings were densely clustered together. Laundry was strung on lines across flat rooftops. I pictured James Bond scrambling, jumping across from one to the next in a chase.
In the distance, the Taj Mahal rose like a mirage sparkling in the sun with its white marble domed roof and minaret towers. I bought an Orange Fanta Soda in a glass bottle from a street vendor. It wasn't cold, but it was still refreshing in the hot afternoon sun.
I wandered aimlessly exploring alleys, making my way in the general direction of the Agra Fort and the Taj Mahal. I didn't need a map—the palace towered above the mostly two-story buildings in town.
The Taj Mahal was built in 1632 at the height of the Mughal Empire by Shah Jahan as a mausoleum for his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal. Imagine loving someone so much. I wanted to find love like that. You don't see it very often. I suppose you don't just 'find' a love like that--it doesn't come naturally, it takes a lot of effort, a lot of give and take.
It's not realistic to find someone who's a perfect fit. You have to be willing to make changes to become a better person—you have to become the person you're looking for in a partner.
Ironically, you find love by giving it. The more you give, the more you receive. I wanted to be a selfless, compassionate giver. Someone happy, fun to be with. Uplifting. I had to work on developing those attributes, so I'd have more to offer. Then, when the time was right, I'd find the love I desired in my life.
I picked up a brochure and read about the taj mahal. The use of white stone demonstrated a Hindu influence. Minarets are towers used in Islamic architecture--the Taj Mahal was flanked by mosques. It also had characteristics reflective of Indian and Persian architecture. I was surprised to see a Muslim influence. I thought India was a Hindu country. I asked a tour guide who explained that while there have been periods of conflict, Hindu and Muslim cultures existed side by side for centuries and had even adopted some of each other's cultural practices.
They say you have to visit the Taj Mahal at morning and at night as it changes color. In the sunset the white stone takes on and reflects the orangish red hues of the sunset. In the morning sun it glistens and sparkles in brilliant bright white.
I loved the acres of manicured gardens and reflecting pools. It was truly a magnificent, monumental structure.
When it was time to move on, I caught the train to Kolkata (aka Calcutta) on the Bangladesh border. It was the cultural capital of India. It had a colorful Indian character while retaining a strong British influence from the nineteenth century colonial days. The food was amazing. I ate spicy pork vindaloo and tikka masala and other curry dishes from the street vendors as I walked across the regal Howrah Bridge and strolled through exotic bird sanctuaries and botanical gardens. I saw stunning temples enveloped by tropical jungle foliage and a bustling port on the Indian Ocean.
I hopped on a jam-packed train down the coast to Chennai then over to the massive sprawling city of Bangalore. While on the train, the crowd pushed in tighter and tighter. Several people bumped into me with each lurch and movement of the train. As we came into the station, two young boys beside me moved quickly out the doors and sprinted suspiciously away.
I instinctively reached down to pat the outside of my pocket to feel for the bulge of my wallet, but it was gone. They'd taken it.
I was glad I'd taken the forethought to prepare for such a predicament. They'd only gotten fifty dollars and none of my important cards or documents. Still, it was a potent reminder to be vigilant.
The city was bustling with activity. I'd never seen so many people so crowded together. Traffic was legendary. The city was vibrant. Alive with exotic sounds and commotion and people hustling in all directions.
I attended a five-day Hindu festival called Holi, or Festival or Love where people threw brightly colored water or powder at each other. Everyone quickly became rainbow-striped from head to toe in bright hews of pink and yellow and orange. It's a time of love and reconciliation. The celebration of the arrival of Spring where all people come together in harmony including a temporary dissolution of the caste system. I couldn't believe such things still existed in the world. The people were ranked by occupation and social status. Those at the bottom were cruelly compelled to live in abject poverty.
As I wandered, I took in the excitement of the Bollywood film industry. I witnessed a crazy passion for sports—especially a weird British game called Cricket which has Test Matches that can last for days. I could only handle a few hours of it, then moved on. I saw a massive columned government complex, endless call centers and other commerce and shiny glass office buildings.
The air was smoky and smelled of factory smoke and industrial production mixed with street vendor food and occasionally the sweet perfume of Jasmine flowers.
I spent a couple weeks there ending the Asian leg of my journey. I stayed at the Goldfinch Hotel and did my laundry and touched base with Rob. I filled him in on my trip and he wired me more money. He asked if I'd heard anything about the pandemic.
"What pandemic?"
"Dude, there's a corona virus spreading around the world. I'm surprised you haven't heard anything. They're saying it started in China."
"Oh my gosh, I did get really sick for about a week. I wonder that's what I had."
"They're shutting down airports and locking down infected cities."
"No wonder so many people are wearing masks everywhere."
"You should come home while you still can. Otherwise, you might get stuck in lockdown somewhere for who knows how long. You know what I'm saying?"
"Yeah, but I'm headed into the remote parts of Africa. Surely, they won't be in lockdown. Will they?"
I don't know dude. Stay in touch."
"I'll try, but this is the leg of the trip where I probably won't be able to call for a while."
The next day I hurried to the airport and caught a flight to Cape Town, South Africa while I still could. I crossed into the Southern Hemisphere where the seasons oddly switched from summer to winter. But I was in Africa, so it still felt like summer anyway.
In the airport there was no mention of the virus, or any precautions, but I did see some stories about it spreading in the news.
I saw an ad for a hiking tour of the cape peninsula. It showed a couple walking down a stone staircase on a rocky overlook perched on a cliff top towering over the ocean below.
I did most of my exploring on my own, unguided, but I was so taken by the ad, I signed up the tour on the spot and went the next day. The verdant mountains rose straight up from the sea. The roads were narrow and winding. The coast smelled of salt spray and dried seaweed. Gulls cawed and floated in the fierce wind currents. The scenery was spectacular. Big waves pounded mercilessly against the rocky shore. Green lush trails led down to several hideaway beaches.
The next day I went into town and went shopping around for a motorcycle. I looked at a couple used bikes, but I was one thousand dollars under budget, so I splurged and got myself a brand new red and black, 750 cc dual sport Honda Africa Twin. I upgraded to a larger desert fuel tank and added locking aluminum saddle bags. I wanted something I could store food in and keep critters out of at night as I rode across Africa. I bought a really good pair of binoculars so I could admire the majestic scenery up close.
I spent a week exploring Cape Town. It was great having a motorcycle to get around. It was so much easier than travelling by foot and taxi or navigating the bus and other transit schedules.
The West Cape Town slums of Cape Flats were depressing. The area had a reputation for being so dangerous, I witnessed it from a distance. It was an endless sea of tiny, dilapidated tin shacks. The smell of raw sewage permeated the air. It was hard to witness people living in such conditions. There's so much inequality in the world. It's so unfair.
I wished I could do something, but I felt powerless. I would have gone into the neighborhoods and volunteered at food shelters or in any other capacity, but I was warned not to because the gang activity and drug trade were so violent, there were thousands of annual homicides and kidnappings.